


Palms Reflecting in Your Eyes

by objectlesson



Series: Endless Summer Verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Louis, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Sub Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: Harry visits Louis at his campus and finds a crop on the wall.





	Palms Reflecting in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> The much awaited and heavily hinted at porny sequel to Like an Endless Summer!!! You guys didn't think I was gonna leave you hanging with only 1 (one) scene with that crop, did you? 
> 
> Just fyi, the kink in this story is not perfectly negotiated! There's lots of check ins and verbal consent, and as much discussion as I thought was realistic for these characters given their age and relationship, but there are some specific acts which are not brought up explicitly before they come into play. All play is tender and loving tone-wise, however. 
> 
> Thank you to Hurdy Gurdy for whipping out the world's fastest beta job! Mwah!

Louis stands in the doorway and watches Harry bound into his dorm room like an overexcited dog. He watches him nearly trip over a stack of textbooks half-hidden in a pile of dirty laundry; he watches him vault messily into his unmade bed instead of catching himself, committing wholeheartedly to the fall, flailing all over Louis’s sheets and rubbing his perfect, glowy-flushed face into his pillow. Louis watches and beams because who could watch Harry Styles do _anything_ and not beam so hard that it hurts? Harry Styles is probably capable of melting the most stoic and hardened of hearts, and Louis is neither stoic nor hardened, and on top of that, Harry is his _boyfriend_. 

His boyfriend. Louis shudders and grins even wider, popping out his hip and leaning against the wall so that he doesn't do anything embarrassing like fall to his knees in exaltation and gratitude. Just…he’s seeing Harry, not summer camp-Harry shiny with sunscreen and forever sweaty and magical in his pea-soup green work shirt, but _real-life Harry_ , the Harry who wasn’t dreamt up from summer but who exists in the too-hot, too-smoky burn of September in Louis’s ugly _dorm room_. It’s sort of a revelation. “How are those pillowcases?” he asks as Harry comes up for air, gasping. 

“Perfect,” Harry mumbles, kicking off his scuffed brown Chelsea boots. They clatter to the floor as he busies himself with his socks. “They smell like you and like weed, so…,” he trails off, flinging his socks across the room before flopping down and holding his arms out. “Why are you all the way over there? C’mere.” 

Louis picks his way across the floor (it’s a mess; he would have cleaned before Harry came, but he was too busy doing all his homework a full week in advance so that he’d have absolutely nothing to do all weekend except drown in _his boyfriend_ ) and collapses onto Harry once he’s close enough. He buries his face in his unruly curls (they’re longer now, very nearly down to his shoulders, and if he didn't look like a half-Tarzan, half-mermaid prince slash romance novel hero before, he _certainly_ does now) and inhales. 

It’s funny, to smell Harry’s hair and get nothing but salt and shampoo and boy instead of woods and fire and Banana Boat and the faintest whiff of horse. It’s undiluted Harry, and it's so fucking _good_ that Louis gets dizzy as he breathes him in, rubbing his cheek fiercely into Harry’s face to steady himself. “So,” he prompts, cuddling closer, planting kiss after messy kiss down Harry's neck as he throws an arm around his chest. “How’s the room? As glamorous and collegiate as you imagined?” 

Harry sighs, sifting his fingers through Louis’s hair and getting a little cross-eyed as he looks down at him because their faces are so close. “Well, it doesn’t smell like jockstrap and Muscle Milk, which is sort of what I expected when you told me your roommate had a football scholarship…” 

Louis snorts. “Luckily, he’s the clean-and-tidy sort of athlete. And he’s never here...always staying with his girlfriend since she’s an upperclassman and has a fancy off-campus apartment, I guess. He’s gonna be there the entire time you visit, so you probably won’t even see him….and we can be as loud as we want,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows wickedly.

Harry blushes so easily, and even though Louis _knows_ by now that it’s coming, it never fails to make his stomach drop. Just…how _easy_ it is to get a reaction out of him, to push his buttons. Harry’s cheeks get pink, and he squirms in Louis’s arms, rubbing against his thigh. “It’s gonna be so nice…to not hold back since we aren’t at camp anymore, no Ben Winston creeping around.” 

“Yup,” Louis agrees, rolling over onto Harry, making the air huff out of him. “I can make you scream,” he says, and there, again, that brilliant flush on Harry’s face, all the way down his throat. Louis has to lick it. “Can fuck you, finally,” he whispers, right in Harry’s ear, and that’s all it takes. 

“Oh, god, please, please, Louis,” he keens, writhing all over the bed, nearly bucking Louis off in the process. “Been dreaming of it… _wanting it_ , so badly,” he begs as he shoves his hands up the back of Louis’s T-shirt to claw at skin. And Louis…fuck, Louis can’t get enough of him, how _desperate_ he is, how eager, how ready. And he _knows_ he’s ready, knows because they’ve been skyping close to every day since camp ended, and Harry _tells him_ , shows him, sometimes, when his roommate is gone and he has the space to himself. _Got dildo, fyi. been fucking myself with it so i’ll be ready for u when I visit :) xx_ was the first text Harry sent on the subject, which Louis got in the middle of a terrifically boring sociology lecture he had to then promptly excuse himself from. And then, in the middle of a Skype call later that night, a sly _you wanna see it?_ with his dimples popping, his hand playing coyly at the hem of his boxers like some fucking camboy minx from Louis’s dreams. 

By now, he’s seen Harry (his _boyfriend_ ) face down, ass up while he works his lube-shiny fingers in and out of his hole, whimpering low in his throat, cock hard and leaking against his stomach. He’s seen Harry lower himself onto the dildo he bought, knees spread and chest heaving and dewy with sweat, mouth open and gasping and parted at the breach. Louis has gotten to come, over and over again, to how fucking _ready_ Harry is. And now he’s _here_. “Gonna take you apart, baby,” he growls, nuzzling into Harry’s curls, palming down his taut, trembling stomach to the waistband of his jeans. “Gonna take care of you.” 

“Yes, please,” Harry moans, getting Louis’s face between his hands and canting up so that he can kiss him, tongue and teeth and those plush, messy lips, his mouth so soft and slick that it’s like a dream. And Louis loses himself in it a little, like he always does. He doesn't know how to kiss Harry just _once_ , doesn’t know how to kiss him with just his _lips_. He’s always got to taste him, choke him a little, bite him so that he’s groaning. 

They roll around for a bit, palming all over each other wherever they can reach, and Louis isn’t sure how long it goes on, but he knows his fucking _jeans_ have gotten too tight, and he needs to get them off asap. He needs to feel Harry closer, have all of his skin. He pulls away, gasping, and pushes Harry down with a firm hand on his chest when he arches off the bed, chasing Louis’s lips. “Want these off,” Louis explains, unbuttoning his pants and stepping off the bed so that he can hop out of them. “You, too,” he nods to Harry, who has a visible erection straining against his similarly stupidly tight pants. Harry just sort of lies there looking bewildered, eyes half-lidded and glassy, mouth a wet, swollen, obscene thing. “Pants,” Louis clarifies, pointing, and Harry snaps out of it and nods, lifting his ass up off the bed so that he can roll his jeans down his perfect, peachy thighs. 

Then, because he’s apparently trying to kill Louis before he even gets his dick in him, Harry rolls over and pushes his ass into the air, the side of his face pressed into Louis’s pillow, eyes imploring. So ready, so…submissive. _Jesus_. Louis sort of…stops, just stands there with his pants around his knees, boxers tented, and stares at Harry, Harry, who’s on his stomach, Harry, who’s just… _presenting_ his ass to him, back curled into a deep, filthy arc. “Fuck,” Louis murmurs, managing to unstick his feet enough to stumble back to the bed and lay a gentle, trembling hand on the lovely curve of Harry's ass, round and delectable in his threadbare black briefs. “You’re so…you want it so badly,” he marvels. 

“Is it annoying? M’I too desperate?” Harry slurs, folding his arms under his head and swaying his hips back and forth, pushing the swell of his cheeks up into Louis’s palm. 

Louis squeezes, digging his fingers into the meat of him until Harry cries out a little, the bend in his back deepening. “Yeah, you’re desperate, but s’the furthest thing from annoying, it’s…god, Harry. It’s perfect. S’everything I want, _you’re_ perfect,” Louis rambles, voice coming out shot and hoarse already because…because that’s what Harry does to him. 

“ _You’re_ perfect,” Harry counters, getting on all fours, the muscles in his arm flexing and standing out in stark relief as he holds his own weight up. “Which is why I want your dick in me,” he adds, shooting Louis a cheeky grin over his shoulder. He turns back to the wall, and suddenly, his eyes go wide. “Oh… _oh_ ,” he whispers, and Louis has to follow his gaze to figure out what he’s seen. 

And… _oh_ is right. Because there, hanging next to the Thursday poster above his bed, is Louis’s riding crop. 

Louis colors, inexplicably embarrassed even though he _knew_ it was there. But Harry snatches it off the wall before Louis can say anything and hands it over to him without preamble or flourish. “Please,” he grinds out, swallowing thickly. “Think about...think about that day all the time. Get myself off remembering it.” 

“God, _Harry_ ,” Louis breathes, taking the crop in slow motion, suddenly feeling very drunk, very dizzy. Harry is unbelievable, he’s a _dream._ “We weren’t even together yet.” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs in agreement, getting down on his elbows so that his ass pushes up into the air obscenely. “But I was already in love with you.” 

Louis’s heart leaps up into his throat as he climbs back onto the bed, mattress creaking under his knees while he arranges himself behind Harry, holding the crop tightly, lightheaded he’s so turned on, so _powerful_ with this beautiful boy just _begging_ for him. “I was already in love with you, too,” he confesses gently, reminding Harry that they're in this together, that they’re both in so deep. He grabs Harry by the briefs, gathering as much stretchy cotton as he can into his fist, wedging it between Harry’s cheeks to expose his sweet, pale skin. Harry groans, hips shifting in the air. “So you want me to hit you with this?” 

“Yes,” Harry moans, with certainty. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, like he's overwhelmed by the mere thought of it, and Louis’s cock twitches almost painfully in his boxers. “Want it so badly.” 

“Okay, yeah, I can do that,” Louis nods, bending to kiss Harry’s back, the indentation right beside his spine. “We just need to talk a little about it first…I don’t want to hurt you, want it to be good for you.” 

“It…but I _want_ you to hurt me,” Harry explains, a little breathless, legs trembling. “It’ll be good for me if it hurts...I _like_ that, I know I like it.” 

“God...fuck,” Louis curses, smoothing his palm up Harry’s back before drawing his nails down along his spine, leaving five new trails of red in his lovely skin. “Shit, that’s so fucking hot...I’ll hurt you good, then, I promise, just…you gotta let me know if it’s too much, okay? Or if you need me to stop.” 

“Okay,” Harry agrees softly. “Like a safe word.” 

Louis’s eyebrows fly to his hairline. He’s not sure why, but he didn’t really think eighteen-year-old anal-virgin Harry Styles would know what a safe word is. Or what it’s called, at least. Maybe he’s been googling stuff. “Yeah, like a safe word.” 

“Ummmm…,” Harry ponders, brow furrowed, bottom lip worried between his teeth. “Horse alien.” 

“That’s two words,” Louis replies, smiling a huge and endeared smile while tapping the crop lightly on Harry’s exposed ass, loving the way Harry hisses as he does it, collapsing down onto the bed and humping the mattress pitifully, like that single second of barely-nothing contact is enough to send him into fits. “But I guess it’ll work.” 

“Okay, so hit me then,” Harry whines, turning his head and pouting at Louis through his wreck of hair. “Please.” 

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis gasps, so fucking in love with him that his name sounds like a sob as it comes out, ripped and soft. “I will. Just…you gotta tell me if you need a break, and if you’re doing alright, and when you want me to stop. Because we’ll stop the second you want to.” 

“Okay,” Harry slurs, arching his back. “I’ll tell you.” 

“Good boy,” Louis exhales in relief, kissing up Harry’s spine and groping his ass in fierce fistfuls with his free hand as he goes. Harry tastes like salt and fire, clean and good and hot, and he wants him so _badly_ between his teeth, under his crop, around his cock. Everywhere. “Love you, baby.” 

“Love you, too,” Harry murmurs, grinding against the bed in slow, dirty drags of his hips, rubbing his ass against Louis’s thigh on the odd stroke. “Love being your baby.” 

“So good at it, you’re so good for me,” Louis soothes, biting Harry once on the ripple of muscle over his shoulder blade before sitting back on his haunches and smoothing a hand up the back of Harry’s thigh. “God, you’re gorgeous, so pretty for me,” he whispers, using the little leather flap at the top of his crop stick to trace down Harry’s crack through his briefs, slowly and carefully. Harry gasps and then fidgets, hiding his face in the pillow. 

Louis takes his time, so moved by the way Harry just _trusts him_ , has given himself over to him, lying prone and trembling here on his bed. He teases him, gets him worked up, Harry’s breath held in anticipation while Louis taps either cheek gently, idly, barely enough to even feel it. 

The first genuine smack he does with the crop is from his left hand, so that even though he feels like he’s giving it his all, he knows he isn’t. It comes cracking down on Harry’s white skin, which immediately blooms red as he yelps and cants away before pushing back desperately. “Oh, my god,” he groans, voice muddled by Louis’s pillow. “Ow.” 

“That okay?” Louis asks as he thumbs over the mark he left, pink and puffy and a little raised. He digs into it then, and Harry hisses.

“Yes, yeah, so good,” he slurs, and before the last syllable is even out of his mouth, Louis brings the crop down again, right where it hit the first time, layering impact upon impact. Harry bucks into the mattress, hips shifting, and Louis doesn't wait for him to stop moving before he hits his other cheek, swift and stinging, the sound of it cracking through the otherwise quiet room. “Fuck, Louis,” he whimpers, and Louis has to remember to breathe, he’s so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. 

“Lift up,” he orders, rubbing his palm over Harry’s ass where he’s burning and already swollen. “Lemme get your shorts off all the way, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees, the planes of his thigh muscles flickering as he hefts his weight up and lets Louis tug his underwear down over the soft swell of his bum, exposing him fully. 

“God, you look so good, baby,” Louis marvels, thumbing his cheeks apart so that he can watch them spring back together, Harry’s skin firm and white and _so_ delicious looking, and he’s…god, he wants to ruin it so badly, wants to mark him up so that he can’t sit without remembering how much Louis loves him. He bends down and licks a stripe over the heat of him, where a welt is already forming amid the pallor. “You’re so, so pretty,” he tells him. 

“More,” Harry begs, reaching behind his back clumsily to touch Louis’s hair, his shoulder, anything. “Hit me again. I _feel_ pretty.”

Louis sits back, holds Harry in place with a hand spread in the ditch of his lower back, and smacks him again, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Each time is harder than the last, and Harry lurches with the force of the impact. Louis does it again, this time on the other cheek, and after a choked gasp, Harry lies quiet and still save for the steady heave of his breath, like he’s overwhelmed. Louis drags his thumb over the jut of Harry’s tailbone before rubbing circles over it gently. “Harry, is this alright? You doing okay?” 

With much effort, Harry turns his head, so that his flushed face is pressed into the pillow, hair stuck to his tear-sticky cheek. Louis has a flash of panic in his chest at how _wet_ his face is before Harry assures him, “M’so good, s’perfect, don’t stop…don’t stop, Louis, please.” 

Louis leans over Harry and smooths the mess of curls behind his ear, thumbs over the cut of his cheekbone. “You’re so good,” he praises, pressing a kiss to Harry’s temple, licking the salt from his lips. “Take the pain really well, baby.” 

“I like it,” Harry chokes out, arching his back and rubbing his bare, hot ass all over the front of Louis’s boxers, both of their breaths catching as Louis’s cock nestles between the cheeks. “Oh, god, you’re so hard,” Harry whines.

“Yeah, from you,” Louis murmurs, pushing Harry onto his stomach again and sitting back. He looks so vulnerable, arms above his head and briefs in a tangle around his thighs, and it’s so obvious that he _loves_ this, that he’s so fucking _willing_ to just lie here and let Louis _hit him_ , break him, put him back together again. Louis presses a few firm, open-mouthed kisses to the new welts on Harry’s cheeks, making sure his stubble scrapes against them, that Harry is keening and hissing from the sting. He wonders how much he _can_ take, how far he can push him. Then, he switches the crop to his right hand, ready to give Harry all his strength, all his precision. 

He hits Harry, this time on his thigh, right below the curve of his ass. He can tell it really smarts because the sound Harry makes is stunned and reflexive and involuntary; he’s moving up the bed without meaning to as he tries to escape the sudden pain of it. Harry takes a deep breath before he shifts back down, wanting more, a mess of conflicting impulses, so fucking raw, so beautiful. Louis brings the crop down again and again, the stick cutting through the air with a hiss each time before landing on Harry's ass with a satisfying _thwack_. 

Louis is relentless and doesn't hold back, hitting Harry again and again until his forearm aches from holding the crop so fucking tightly, until he’s breathless from how _moved_ he feels as he gives this to Harry, gives him exactly what he wants. What he _needs_. His stomach turns at every sound Harry makes, each strangled yelp and groan and gasp, his cock so impossibly hard that it’s dripping in his boxers, twitching every time he sees Harry rub his own cock into the mattress, so obviously _turned on_ by this. “Good, good, that’s it, baby,” he praises on the particularly brutal ones, the ones that immediately sting purple instead of puffy pink. “Doing so good. Perfect.” 

The longer this goes on, the better Louis gets at anticipating Harry’s next move and meeting him there as he shifts down the bed, writhing shamelessly, voice wrecked as he sobs out Louis’s name amid a litany of curses. He’s so into it, back arched as he makes fists in Louis’s sheets. He keeps trying to pull his legs together as he twists in pain, but Louis won’t let him, forcing his own body up between the lewd splay of Harry’s thighs to keep him split, to keep him _uncomfortable._

Eventually, Louis can’t take it anymore and tosses the crop to the floor, done with it because he needs that skin under his _hands_ , he needs to feel the resounding crack of each impact in his palm, through his arm. He holds Harry open with one hand, throat closing up as he sees his hole, dark and twitching, so fucking _hot_ as he thumbs over it, and Harry’s breath stops. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, keeping Harry spread like that so he can watch his hole twitch as he hits him, another firm, bare-handed smack right at the center of his bruised cheek. Harry’s flesh undulates obscenely, and Louis's mouth floods with saliva. “Just taking me, letting me do whatever I want to you, hurt you so good,” he babbles. 

Harry wails in response, swaying his bruised ass back and forth in the air, wordlessly begging for Louis to hit him again, so he does. He holds him down and spanks him _hard_ with the other hand, so many times that he loses count. He smacks him until his palm is stinging and Harry’s openly crying into his pillow, wet hiccupy sobs that make his shoulders shake, hips working in desperate little circles. “Okay, baby?” Louis asks, licking his thumb before rubbing it down Harry’s crack, over the hungry clench of his hole. “Need me to stop?” 

“No,” Harry chokes out, shaking his head. “I love it. Love you.” 

Louis’s so moved that he doesn’t know what to say, _I love you, too, love you so much that my heart feels broken even though you’re mine...it’s too small a thing to hold so much feeling...love you so, so, so much, Harry,_ being simultaneously too many words and somehow not enough. Harry’s too wrecked to be able to hear them anyway amid the ragged mess of his own breath, his own sobs. Louis pitches forward to kiss him instead, knees bracketing one of his thighs so that he can rub his cock against the back of it while they lick at each other messily, Harry’s spit tasting so tear-salty, so raw. “Love you,” he murmurs into it, biting Harry’s bottom lip once before pulling back again, giving him a gentle but firm swat on his ass. 

It must still hurt because Harry cringes and hisses, twisting uncomfortably, so perfect and beautifully broken. Louis wiggles his way down the bed until he’s between Harry’s thighs on his own stomach, face level with his ass and close enough to feel the waves of heat coming off it. His legs are hanging over the edge of the bed, but he doesn't care; he braces his foot against the wall and lets the other one kick lazily in the air, just admiring the view, Harry’s bruised, broken skin. 

Then, because he wants to hurt him some more but can’t get a good hit in from this angle, he bites him. Just sinks his teeth into the hot, swollen flesh, deep enough that Harry cries out, pulls away. Louis holds him fast, though, one arm hooked around his thigh so that he can’t move too much, is still within reach. “Good?” he asks. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry assures him, voice like a snag in lace it’s so lovely, so torn. Louis moans and bites him again, layering teeth marks over the repeated outlines of the crop’s leather flap. And _fuck_ , it’s perfect; Harry’s skin tastes _amazing_ , so raw that it’s metallic, hot like a sunburn under the swirl of his tongue. 

He does it again and again, crazy with the sounds that Harry’s making, the low, trembling animal wails that get higher and sharper the deeper his teeth sink into flesh. Harry’s spit-slick and trembling, and Louis isn't planning on stopping, but then he hears the distinct sound of “ _wait_ ,” almost indistinguishable from the haze of Harry’s other sounds, all the wordless yelps and moaning. “Wait, wait,” he says again, this time clearer, his hand flexing around his fistful of sheets. 

Louis stops immediately, heart in his throat. It isn’t _alien horse_ , and it isn’t _stop_ , but it isn’t _harder_ either, so he wavers, rubbing up Harry's thigh with a reassuring palm. “Yeah, baby? You okay? Need a break?” 

“ _No_ , no,” Harry wheezes, back muscles visibly twitching, face a crumpled wreck. “Just…m’gonna come, if you don’t stop. M’gonna come. M’really close.” 

Louis lets out a relieved exhalation, making Harry keen when his breath hits his fevered skin. “That’s okay,” Louis tells him, squeezing his side, the soft bits of flesh at his hips. “You can come...want you to come. Want to make you feel good.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, licking his swollen lips. “M’allowed to?” 

_Jesus_ , fuck, he’s so good, so perfect, so obedient, so _Louis’s_. He kisses one of the welts on Harry’s ass tenderly and says, “Yes, you can come whenever you want to. I got you, okay?” 

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, arching his back again. “You can. You can bite me s’more, I mean.” 

And Louis does. Inhales shakily and leans down and _bites_ , sucking a mouthful of Harry’s hot, broken skin into his mouth and sinking his teeth in. Again and again, all over the curve of his bum, closer and closer to his crack until he can’t stand it anymore and has to pull him apart and dip his tongue in. 

Harry cries out and goes still, lying there locked up and unmoving as Louis licks and groans in absolute bliss at the _taste_ of him, heady and dark, all musk and spice and heat and salt. He can’t get enough, mouth suddenly so wet and sloppy that he’s drooling into Harry’s crack as he eats him out, drunk on it, not even aware that Harry’s desperately holding on until he feels him come, his hole suddenly spasming under his tongue in rhythmic pulses. 

It’s the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, feeling Harry come _from behind_ , eating Harry out while he grinds himself to finish on his fucking _sheets_. Louis’s shaking when he pulls away, hands tingling from hitting Harry, tongue raw from licking him out so deeply, so desperately, spit and tears and sweat all over his face. “Oh, my god,” he rasps, crawling up the bed and collapsing beside Harry so that he can get his arms around him, pull him close and kiss all over his snot-sticky face. “You’re…god, you’re amazing, you’re perfect, such a good boy,” he praises, tucking his hair behind his ear, wiping up tears with his thumbs. “Unbelievable. Like...I can’t even believe you’re real.” 

Harry can’t say anything, he’s still gasping and hiccuping through sobs, shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm, come white and shiny all over his stomach as they press together, smearing it between their bodies. Louis doesn't even care, he’s so beside himself, so _moved_ , so turned on. He kisses Harry, trying hard to be gentle, even though all he wants to do is _drown_. “S’okay, baby, you did so fucking good…you’re amazing. The best.” 

“Thank you,” Harry croaks eventually after he comes down a bit, rubbing his face into Louis’s shoulder, big hands clumsy and warm all over his back. “You make me feel, like…I dunno. Like, the prettiest thing in the world, by the way.” 

Louis hums in the back of his throat, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair, careful not to snag. “Um, that’s because you _are_ the prettiest thing in the world, actually. It has nothing to do with me.” 

“No, it’s you,” Harry counters, kissing up Louis’s throat, across the cut of his jaw. “It’s definitely you.”

They lie together, skin cooling, chests rising and falling in tandem. Louis keeps stealing kisses, to Harry’s temple, his hair, the corner of his open, panting mouth. Eventually Harry whimpers, tilting up so that Louis can catch his mouth, lick up inside him. “So, that was good for you?” Louis asks after a moment of idle kissing and slow, deliberate drags of his hips, letting Harry feel what he does to him, how _hard_ he gets. “You’re okay? Wasn’t too much?” 

“It was fucking amazing,” Harry tells him, beaming, all dimples and tear-clumped lashes and sunshine. Louis feels his heart stop. “I never, ever…I didn’t even know I could feel like that. Thought I was gonna die, but, like, in the best way. It was incredible.” Then he pitches forward and kisses Louis messily, tongue sloppy and too wet and absolutely, totally perfect. “Lemme make you come,” he whispers as he pulls back, eyes half-lidded and hazy. “How do you wanna come?” 

Louis curls his arm around Harry’s side and drags his hand down until his palm is cupping the hot, ruined flesh of his ass. “Here,” he murmurs, squeezing gently, making Harry keen. “Want to see my come all over you here, want to rub it into your marks. Is that okay?” 

Harry whimpers, shutting his eyes tightly and making a face. “God, _yes_ , that’s so hot. I want that, wanna feel you come all over me.” 

“Roll over, baby,” Louis growls, kissing Harry’s temple and clambering back onto his knees, smoothing a hand down his back to guide him. Then he bends over his prone body, eyes watering in overwhelm and sympathy as he _sees_ what he’s done again, all the colors, all the welts. Harry is _ruined_ , he’s absolutely _gorgeous_ , he’s _Louis’s_. And that makes Louis the luckiest boy in the whole world. “That’s it.” 

Harry pushes his ass out and hollows his back obscenely, the muscles of his thighs visibly trembling as Louis gets his cock out of his damp boxers and cringes at the drag of cotton over sensitive skin. He’s so fucking turned on that he _hurts_ , heavy as he bobs against his stomach, twitching at the way Harry reaches behind his back to pull his cheeks apart, showing off his pretty, spit-slick hole. “You can…if you want,” he slurs. 

Louis stares, dizzy, as the perfect ring of muscle visibly flutters. He wants to fuck Harry so badly, _god_ , he wants to, has been entertaining fantasies about it in absurd, technicolor detail ever since the first day of summer camp. But Harry is so blissed out, trembling and panting and still sniffling through a haze of tears, and Louis isn't sure this is how he wants their first time to be. He knows Harry wants it and that it would be _good_ , but he wants Harry on his back, cock hard, bent in half under Louis while he works himself inside, slow and teasing. He wants to _look_ at Harry when he does it, fingering him open gently and sweetly, kissing him breathless as he pushes in. 

So instead of fucking Harry, Louis does the next best thing and sucks his index and middle fingers into his own mouth, spitting a mouthful of thick saliva into his palm. Then, he grinds down hard on Harry’s left ass cheek, hot flesh against hot flesh. Harry groans and pushes back into him, so needy for it that Louis gasps in awe. He rubs his spit into Harry’s hole then, amazed by how soft he is, how easily he opens up under his index finger, insides clenching hungrily as Louis pushes into the searing, dark heat of him. “God, you feel so perfect inside, baby,” Louis assures him, working deeper before pumping in and out, loving how Harry follows him, moves with it, like he knows _exactly_ how he wants to be fucked. “So hot, you’re burning up.” 

Harry’s beyond words, just whimpering and humping back against Louis’s finger and his cock, circling his hips so prettily, so eagerly. Louis spits directly into his crack, watching saliva drip down from Harry’s tailbone to collect by his hole, giving Louis enough lubrication to get another finger inside. Harry cries out, clutching desperately around him, and Louis’s so fucking close just from _this_ that he feels insane. 

He sits back and gets his cock in hand, furiously jacking himself off over Harry’s bruised ass, wanting so badly to see the ribbons of white over so much red dappled in purple, fire over fire. He hooks his fingers, working them inside Harry just to keep some motion, some friction, just to _feel_ him from the inside out so that he can push himself over the edge and come.

He gasps when it happens, the sudden punch of it. 

It’s the sort of orgasm that makes his toes curl and his breath catch, aching and sharp. It hits him fast and hard, his stomach dropping and a ripped gasp falling from his mouth as the first hot drips of come land on Harry’s skin, making him yelp, hiss. He freezes and curls his back into the filthiest dip, offering his ass for Louis to empty himself onto, to paint in white. Louis’s vision is awash in hazy red before it becomes static, and there’s nothing but Harry’s wrecked sounds, Harry’s hot walls clenching down around his fingers, Harry and Harry and _Harry_. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis chokes out, milking his cock through the aftershocks, letting his fingers slide out of Harry’s body because there are only so many overwhelming things he can keep track of at once. Harry whines, white-knuckled grip flexing in Louis’s sheets for a moment before Louis collapses onto Harry’s back, heaving, and then Harry’s reaching behind so that he can touch, maul one of his big, clumsy hands over Louis’s shoulder, his back. “You’re sweaty,” he eventually slurs, like it’s a revelation more than an observation, like every little thing Louis does is worthy of awe. 

Louis grins, huge and elated into Harry’s shoulder, where he, too, is sweaty. “Mhm,” he hums, pressing a messy kiss between Harry’s scapulae. “S’from…the exertion of loving you, like, as hard as I do.” 

Harry laughs a wheezing laugh, the rumble of it resounding through Louis’s chest, his whole _body_ like a seismic tremor. And Harry’s exactly like that--an earthquake, a shifting of the earth. He’s everything. “You didn’t fuck me,” Harry groans lightly as Louis rolls off him in an unceremonious heap of half-numb, still-tingling limbs. “Thought you were gonna. Wanted you to.” 

“I know,” Louis murmurs, propping himself up on his elbow and reaching down to reverently rub his own come into Harry’s ass, smearing it over the welts, over the bruises, down into the crack where he’s still wet with spit, watching Harry’s face an inch from his own on his pillow. Harry shuts up, getting quiet and shivery, eyes fluttering closed. “I didn’t want…I dunno. S’our first time doing that, and I want to feel you come around my cock, want you to be present for every second of it, and you were loopy.” 

“Still am,” Harry admits, smiling. “S’okay you waited. We have the whole weekend, right? For you to do whatever you want to me?” The smile turns into a devilish, cheeky grin, dimples and all, and Louis has to kiss him. 

“Right...I promise,” he says, pressing his lips into the hot flush of his cheek and smoothing his hand into Harry’s hair, arranging it so that he can see the whole of his face, tear-blotchy and sticky and the most lovely thing in the entire universe. “So, that was good? All of it? Your ass isn’t, like—”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts, very seriously. “It was fucking…I dunno. Indescribable. I ascended to a whole different place of existence, basically, and forgot who I was. But, like, it didn’t even matter because I knew you were there and that you had me. Was amazing,” he babbles, kissing Louis on the nose between rambling sentences. “I love you. And I love your horse crop.” 

Louis bursts into scandalized laughter. “Harry Styles! You’re an absolute masochist.” 

“Maybe,” Harry says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, like it’s not the most remarkable, astounding, _mind-blowingly sexy thing_ that Harry just begged to be whipped within an inch of of consciousness. “I like it. I like horse stuff? Like…horses are really sexy. Or, the stuff that comes with them. The horse gear,” he explains with zero grace or clarity. 

Louis just stares, brows arched, so stunned that he can’t even _laugh_. “Horses are _sexy?!_ Do you have something you want to tell me?” 

“Heeeeyyy,” Harry giggles, trailing his fingers down his stomach, picking at the come that’s already crusted in the hair beneath his navel. “I didn't mean like _that_ , just, like, I spent my formative years super in love with this really hot horse rider named Louis Tomlinson. And, like, before he ever kissed me, he took me to the horse barn and talked to me about _saddles_ and _bits_ and showed me all this sexy leather and metal stuff before he _bent me in half and hit me,_ so, like….give me a break.” 

Louis blushes at this crude retelling of events, hands wandering all over Harry’s body, his shoulders and his waist and his soft thighs. “I don’t remember it going like _that_ , exactly…I remember you making fun of the eggbutt bits. And _then_ bending you in half and hitting you.” 

“Well,” Harry says, twining their legs, and _god_ , it’s just so wonderful and easy to be with him, to fuck him and touch him and take care of him and _laugh with him_ , to be his _boyfriend._ Louis beams, head cocked to listen attentively. “ _However_ it happened, horse stuff is sexy and, like, forever confusing for me now! I can’t help it. I want you to tie me up with horse ropes and, like, put an eggbutt bit in my mouth. Wanna ride you,” he teases, or maybe he’s _not_ teasing. Louis isn’t sure, but regardless, he’s red and sputtering, and Harry is _outrageous_. 

“Jesus Christ, Harold,” he coughs. “You want me to bit you? Tack you up?” he asks, just trying it out, testing the water, but Harry fucking _moans_ , throws his head back, and grinds his head into the pillowcase, so, like…he must be serious. “Wow,” Louis exhales gently, rubbing a palm up Harry’s chest, pausing to rest on the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Yeah? All that? Wanna ride my cock?” 

“Um, yes, _please_ ,” Harry whines, looking at Louis through his lashes, eyes hazy and blinking. “Please.” 

“Well,” Louis says, amazed, moved, _in love_. So fucking in love. “How about I fuck you properly first? And then we can graduate to the saddles and breast collars and other kinky horse stuff once we've done it without anything fancy. Deal?” he asks, gaze flitting inevitably to the crop, which is lying in the laundry heap where he flung it, this seemingly simple thing now full of so much _wonder_ , so much possibly. 

“Deal,” Harry agrees, offering his hand to shake like an absolute idiot. Louis bats it away and kisses him instead.


End file.
